


warmth

by winchestersinthedrift



Series: wincest drabbles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, hallucinating Sam, s7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	warmth

Dean first notices it when they’re driving: whenever he cranks the window down Sam shrinks a little lower into his coat, sometimes tucks his hands into his own armpits. ‘You sick?’ Dean said, the first couple times. For awhile after that he made fun of him ( _what’s the matter Sammy, losing the ol’ Winchester kick_?). 

One morning they’re lying on the bed after trying again to fuck, a little more desperate than the last time; every time they moved together, clutched and ground against each other, bodies honed to knife-edge control shaking roughly with want, Lucifer showed up in the room or ringed Sam round with hellfire. 

‘What if you close your eyes?’ Dean had said, the first time that it happened; and Sam had replied, with an air of defeat that just about broke Dean’s fucking heart, ‘then he just - talks to me.’

When Sam pulled up the thin motel bedspread and wrapped it tight over his shoulders, Dean rolled over on his front and looked at him.

‘You cold again?’ he said. ‘It’s an oven in here.’

Sam just nodded without even opening his eyes, ‘Ever since -’ he said, without expression, and rolled over on his side, curled into himself. Dean’s face cleared a little, took on a more definite emotion. This was something tangible. This, this was something he could try to fix.

He got extra blankets from the front desk, charmed his way into two instead of just one, the woolen kind with the silky border along the top, and spread them over Sam. The next day he bought new socks, extra warm ones, and thermal underwear, and made Sam wear them. (‘Better?’ he’d say, and Sam would say ‘maybe, I think,’ but Dean still saw him when he thought he wasn’t looking, rubbing his arms and wrapping them too close around himself.)

Dean bought him a beanie and made him wear it in the car.

One night he woke up and found Sam awake beside him, staring at the ceiling with his lips set hard together. Dean rolled over against him and ran a hand down Sam’s forearm, slid down his body through the pile of blankets and sealed his mouth around Sam’s cock, half-stiffened with night if not with sleep. Sam startled and went tense at once and Dean’s heart broke a little, but he put his hands on Sam’s hips and sucked soft and hot and gentle, trying to press the heat of his body into knees and thighs and shins.

‘Dean,’ Sam said, sad and wrecked, ‘it won’t work,’ but Dean slipped off his briefs and Sam’s and crawled up over his body until their cocks could slip wet and hard against each other.

‘Not trying to fuck,’ Dean said, soothing and soft, ‘just trying to warm you up, Sam. Go back to sleep.’ 

So Sam tried, let his limbs go slack and his mind slip into the clouded daze that was all the sleep he got most nights, and Dean touched Sam with his hands and mouth, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Sam’s skin, the hot wetness of his tongue sucking each of Sam’s cold fingers and the heat of his inner thighs fierce and familiar against Sam’s hips; and when Sam started to shake it was the cold in his veins and the want in his belly wrung out together, and Dean took it and pressed it back into Sam’s skin, freckled hands firm over supple straining limbs, and the spurting warmth of their cum between them left Sam tacky-slick and ( _fuck_ ) sweating.

Sam dragged Dean up to his chest and kicked the blankets onto the floor; and they slept naked, limbs tangled together, all the rest of that night.


End file.
